No man is free that speaks from a cage.
Choke chains spiked to the dirt,
Sweat feeds the fields like rain.
With calloused hands,
The nameless toil away. Fed a morsel,
From a fistful of grain.
Praying for clouds to shelter the sun;
If only for a day.
A famine of hope. Straw cities of the voiceless,
Screaming silence.

My life's in your hands
You believe what you will
choosing freedom and riches
Your hands not mine to wash

My life's in your hands
Born as servant, sold as slave
Gifted prisoner, unseen, unknown
My life not mine to choose

Master, you're put in charge
As your servant, I have put you first
I live to please you

I have learned to forgive, but how can I forget?
The memories are there, stabbing me like a bayonet.
I heard them say, "we were called not to live in any fear."
But so many fear to live the life they're called to - this is weird.
So much for being different. So much for being you.
Good luck following the trend & doing what they tell you to.
But I'm not gonna bash or talk trash or even laugh.
I'll be the first to admit, I've chased acceptance in my past,
but conviction made me sleepless. Something shook my spirit.
So I walked out of my comfort zone; a misfit on a mission...
[Messiah's Misfits]
--
@desire.is.dope
20140308
1150HRS
--
1 Corinthians 4

your happiness
was not
mine to give
and yet
i wanted to
serve it to you
in gold platter.

“someday my prince will come”
cinderella sung that...
i believed it to be true

my prince never came
no prince ever would want
a servant girl